


One Good Day

by cherishiskisa



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Punk, I mean, M/M, enjolras is all preppy and grantaire is all punk and they gon bang, grantaire has a lot of piercings and he's really hot, im sorry this is so cliche, punk lm week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-18
Updated: 2014-01-18
Packaged: 2018-01-09 04:10:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1141258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherishiskisa/pseuds/cherishiskisa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for Les Mis punk week.</p>
<p>"It's that time of year again, huh?"</p>
<p>Enjolras looks up with a frown at the speaker of those words-- a punk-ish guy setting up cans of spray paint and various other street art equipment at a table beside Enjolras'. "Yes," Enjolras answers after a moment. "Elections are in just a couple of months. Are you registered?"</p>
<p>The punk only laughs, and Enjolras feels a slight spark of irritation. </p>
<p>"I'm guessing that's a no."</p>
<p>"You guess right."</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Good Day

**Author's Note:**

> w OW ITS THE LAST DAY OF PUNK WEEK AND I LITERALLY JSUT FINISHED THIS HAHAHAHAHAH,,,,,,,
> 
> anyway here's that e/R thing i promised everyone and ye ah sorry no more trans punk lesbians appeared but like they're implied okay they are in my heart etc.
> 
> pls review n let me know what you thought or come hang out w me on tumblr at stonertaire uwu
> 
> DISCLAIMER::: grantaire is really rude and i apologise for whatever the heck it is that he says ok his views dont always necessarily reflect mine and im sorry if they hurt ur feelings but its nothing personal rlly he's just trying to get a rise who knows what he actually believes

"It's that time of year again, huh?"

Enjolras looks up with a frown at the speaker of those words-- a punk-ish guy setting up cans of spray paint and various other street art equipment at a table beside Enjolras'. "Yes," Enjolras answers after a moment. "Elections are in just a couple of months. Are you registered?"

The punk only laughs, and Enjolras feels a slight spark of irritation. 

"I'm guessing that's a no."

"You guess right."

There is a pause as Enjolras watches him unfold a small chair and sit in it. 

"Well?" Enjolras prompts, reaching for a clipboard. "Would you like to?"

The artist looks up at him with a raised (and pierced) eyebrow. "Uh, no. Thanks." He opens a sketchbook and immerses himself in it, making Enjolras frown again-- he's not used to being ignored. 

"You're in my space," Enjolras tries again, frustrated. 

"Nope," the guy says and withdraws a grimy slip of paper from his pocket. He brandishes it in Enjolras' direction with his right hand-- the left is busy sketching. Enjolras takes it and looks at what it says; it appears to be a permit to be in the space immediately next to Enjolras' for another two hours. 

"Fine." Enjolras hands it back, and the artist pockets it again. "But..."

"What?" the guy says, looking up at him. His tone is a little annoyed, too, but his blue eyes flash with interest as he looks at Enjolras. 

Enjolras huffs and pulls on the hem of his vest a little. "Isn't being punk all about rebelling against the system? If you want the system to change, you have to vote, and to vote, you need to register."

"Oh, is that what being punk is about?" the guy laughs, setting his sketchbook aside and standing up. He's shorter than Enjolras, but looks a lot stronger. Enjolras isn't sure whether he should worry or not, but it doesn't look like he's angling for a fight. "Really. I never knew. What's being a yuppie white schoolboy about, then?" He reaches out with nail-polished fingers and touches the knot of Enjolras' tie. Enjolras leans away, eyes narrowing in irritation, and the artist laughs. "Complaining about oppression you'll never experience? Windsor knots and croquet, too? How exciting."

Enjolras' cheeks go red to match his vest. "I don't put on any pretenses," he says waspishly. 

"Besides, I'm not even properly punk," the guy goes on, ignoring Enjolras and shrugging. "Or punk rock. Or grunge."

"Then what?"

"Trip-hop cabaret dance punk," comes the utterly inexplicable answer, accompanied with a smirk that makes something twist in the pit of Enjolras' stomach as the artist's lip rings (spider bites, Enjolras will learn later) glimmer against his stubble. Enjolras waits for elaboration and doesn't get one. 

"Fine," Enjolras says shortly after a moment. "Why does that stop you from registering to vote?"

"It doesn't," the artist shrugs. "I just don't care that much. I voted once, like, ages ago, and it didn't accomplish anything."

Enjolras frowns. "That's not true. Every vote counts."

"Quit spewing brochure text at me," the guy says. "I'm Grantaire." His smile is warm, albeit a little mocking. 

"I'm Enjolras."

"The fuck kinda name is that?" Grantaire laughs, sitting back down and grabbing his sketchbook. One of his curls falls into his eyes and Enjolras tries not to stare. 

"I could say the same to you," he replies, trying to keep his voice cold, but it doesn't work as Grantaire shakes his head, grinning. Enjolras is faintly mesmerised by the glistening of metal on the sides of Grantaire's ears, and he finally asks, "Did it hurt?"

"If you say 'when you fell from heaven' next I will punch you. In the mouth. With my mouth."

Enjolras blinks, bemused, and tries not to think about it. "Um... I meant your ear piercing, but..."

"Oh, that," Grantaire says breezily and sits up straight. "Which one?"

"All of them. I don't know. I've never had a piercing."

Grantaire stands up and comes over to Enjolras. "They didn't hurt much, no," he says, expression pensive as he remembers. "I mean, this one--" He turns his head to the left, showing off a little ring through a part of his ear that Enjolras didn't even know existed. "My rook piercing-- that hurt like a bitch when it was healing. But the rest--" He shows his left ear and points. "Industrial, helix, and lobe-- those were tame. Nah, the one that really hurt was the dick piercing."

Enjolras hates himself for blushing, but he can't help it. "Oh. That's nice."

"Yeah. If you want to cut the preppy crap, I can give you my friend's number; he owns a tattoo parlour and did all this for me."

"If you don't mind," Enjolras hears himself say, and his own voice sounds distant and he can't believe how forward he's being, "I'd rather get your number, first."

"What, so you can call me at 3 AM and yell at me about voting?" Grantaire grins and pulls out a pen. 

"You really should register," Enjolras says, watching as Grantaire takes his hand and scribbles seven digits on his palm. 

"Maybe I'll let you convince me," Grantaire shrugs and puts his pen away. "When does your time run out?"

Enjolras glances at his table. "Um, I'm here for another hour and a half."

"Rad," Grantaire says. "You can keep me company until I'm done and then we're gonna go celebrate my birthday with my friends. I can do your makeup for you, if you want. My place after?"

"Uh," Enjolras says, "sure to the makeup, yes to your place-- my roommate doesn't like it when people are over during the week before the week before finals week. Happy birthday?"

"Eh." Grantaire goes back over to his stand and strikes up a conversation with a group of girls who'd been ooh-and-aahing his art for a while. Enjolras watches him for a few moments, then returns to his own table, looking down at the clipboard and wondering if he needs to recount the forms he's made people fill out for the millionth time today. He's distracted, though, and can't focus; instead, he looks up as Grantaire banters with them about the price of a hypothetical painting and eventually reaches for a can of paint and sets to work. He's good at what he does-- a lot better than most of the street artists Enjolras has glanced at as he walked by. Enjolras watches him, and Grantaire catches him looking, taking a moment to glance up and flash his blue eyes at him with a smirk. 

Enjolras looks away again quickly, cheeks flushed with sudden impatience for night to fall and a grin on his own face, and gets back to rearranging his files.  

**Author's Note:**

> i looked up so many websites about ear piercings come on


End file.
